


Paper Heart

by sasha_b



Series: Live By The Sword [31]
Category: King Arthur (2004), Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 07:16:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2220309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The police academy beckons, and Arthur's new life begins, whether Lance wants it to or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Set closely following **Zoot Suit Riot.** Arthur's been graduated two years, and Lancelot has just finished university.
> 
> Title and song lyrics taken from All American Rejects.

_My bedside is cold, for I am gone  
And spring blossoms you to me._

 

 

 

“What about this?”

 

“No.”

 

“Well, then, this one.”

 

“Lancelot. No.”

 

Despite the dangerous look on Lance's face, Arthur held firm. “Don’t call me that,” the other man recited automatically, frowning. “Come on, Arthur. You can’t go on with this old stuff for the rest of your life. Things change. If you’re really going to do this – and I think you should, don’t get me wrong – then all things need to change.”

 

Arthur sighed and leaned back against the wall of the apartment. They were surrounded by boxes; he hadn’t accumulated much during their three years there, but it was strange to him to see the entire contents of his life fit into fifteen carboard containers. And most of those were his books. Lance had already gotten his things moved to Guin's; he said he wasn’t in any hurry to find a new place. At any rate, he had announced he’d probably be spending most of his time at Arthur’s anyway. That had made Arthur laugh; why get separate homes in the first place? But he knew the answer to that would require more thought on his part before he was ready to tell Lance.

 

Finding the loft had been an unexpected boon; it was close to the lightrail station, it had a deck, and it was affordable. Arthur reminded himself daily to thank God for his luck.

 

Which also reminded him of the fact he really needed to tell Lance the truth about moving.

 

“Fine,” he answered at last, “that one.”

 

Lance smiled. “That’s the way, love. At this rate, I may have you buying clothing at an actual clothing store, versus at that place where you get things for your bike.”

 

Arthur bristled at that. “I don’t buy clothing at Sears,” he grumbled as he dumped the last of his worn, well loved shirts and a few pairs of shoes into the donation box Lance had set up for him. At least, he hadn’t bought clothing there recently. And it was always casual clothing, stuff that was on sale he just couldn’t pass up. He knew how to shop. Lance raised an eyebrow at him as he taped up the box. “I don’t!” Arthur protested. Lancelot merely walked to the bathroom, rummaged around in the box holding Arthur’s toiletries, returning with a small bottle of cologne.

 

“That’s not clothing. And my father wore Canoe,” Arthur muttered, face heating.

 

Lancelot shook his head. “Taste, Arthur, taste. Have I taught you nothing?”

 

Arthur snatched the bottle out of Lance’s hand, stuffing it into the dop kit that lay open at his feet. “Moving along,” he said pointedly. “Let’s get the rest of this loaded up.”

 

*

 

The fall semester would begin in a few weeks time. Arthur figured he would have worked up the nerve to tell Lance about it before then. He stood on the deck of his new loft, staring out at the sinking sun, ashamed of his cowardice. He’d never had problems communicating with the other man before. Well, maybe about some things, but not the important things.

 

Well –

 

“Fuck,” he sighed, and rubbed his hand over his mouth. He’d never been this afraid to tell Lancelot anything before. His stomach hurt just thinking about it. 

 

He had had every intention of telling Lancelot about the police academy the day he had gotten the letter. But that had also been the day of that silly dance, and Lance was already ticked off enough with Arthur for spending the whole evening with Guinevere. So he had decided to tell him the following day. But then they had begun the morning discussing Lance’s graduation week, and things had gotten shuffled around, and in his haste to find a new place, Arthur had pushed back telling Lancelot so far that he had almost forgotten Lance didn’t know about it.

 

“I’ll tell him tonight,” he said outloud; perhaps hearing it coming from his own mouth he’d actually do it. His guilt laughed at him, and he sighed.

 

Maybe at the Bean? Or maybe in a pub. That way, when Lancelot was ready to kill him, possibly he’d be deterred by the amount of witnesses.

 

“Coward,” he murmured roughly. Lance deserved the truth. And besides, he wouldn’t exactly be able to hide the fact he was going to school for too long. He’d only left his newspaper job a few days previous – and he had yet to tell Lancelot about that too. Arthur wasn’t sure what it was that had been holding him back. That wasn’t exactly true – but he was sure that he didn’t want to face most of what was keeping him from telling Lance the truth.

 

Arthur had only seen Lance really angry a few times, and he didn’t care to repeat it. He’d been the object of the anger a few of those times too, and aside from one nasty fight, they’d managed to keep things from getting physical. Arthur wasn’t sure about this time.

 

“Hey, Castus!” The shout came from inside, making Arthur start. He shut his eyes and swore softly, breathing to ten before answering. “Out here,” he called. No time like the present.

 

A small sigh made it’s way out him, sounding to his ears more like a sob.

 

*

 

“Hey,” the other man greeted him when Arthur returned inside, the sliding glass door making no noise as he shut it. Lancelot was in the process of unloading a few bags of groceries, his hair flopping about in his face as he moved. Arthur ambled more slowly than he had intended over to the kitchen, eyes getting progressively wider as he got a look at the contents of the bags that Lancelot was emptying.

 

“Uh – are we expecting children to visit?” Arthur asked finally. 

 

“No,” Lance answered, frowing at a slightly bent box of twinkies he had pulled from the last bag. “Why?” He tossed the things in the cupboard, shut the door, and dusted his hands off. He leaned against the counter and pushed his hair out of his face, smiling at Arthur.

 

“What’s with all the sweets?” Arthur smiled back. He couldn’t help it. He took the few steps that separated them, and rested his hands on Lancelot’s hips. The other man responded by immediately clinging to Arthur, his arms wrapping tightly around Arthur’s middle, his face burying itself in the crook of Arthur’s neck. His sigh of contentment was audible.

 

“Is that a lot of sweets?” he asked, biting lightly at the big tendon that stood up when Arthur tilted his head a certain way. Lance shrugged. “I just thought you could use some snacks in here. You haven’t bought anything but coffee and bread.”

 

Arthur shivered and moved his own arms to encircle the other man. “It’s only sweets, Lance. You trying to make me gain weight?” He laughed and stuck his nose in Lancelot’s hair. It was damp and smelled like cologne and sweat. Perfect.

 

“Gods, no,” Lance answered. “I still need to be able to kick your ass. If you were fat, it might take me a few seconds more. And that wouldn’t look good.” He pulled back, one eyebrow raised. “However, it would guarantee that I would always be the more attractive one in this relationship.”

 

Arthur cocked an arched brow and pursed his lips. His hand reached out behind Lancelot for something the other man hadn’t stored away with the other groceries. He kissed Lancelot to distract him – and to hide the noise of the container opening – then just as Lance was sighing and relaxing onto him, Arthur brought his hand back around.

 

Right into Lancelot’s face, and covered in Cool Whip.

 

Deadly silence; Lance raised a long fingered hand and delicately wiped the topping out of his eyes.

 

“That the best you can do, Arthur?”

 

*

 

“I swear, you come up with the oddest ways to get me naked and wet.”

 

Arthur shook his head again and laughed; they were both covered in goey marshmallow stuff and sticky. Lancelot had bemoaned the fact that his trousers had been new – Arthur merely shrugged and told him it was what he deserved for being such a pissy bastard. That had resulted in the ruining of Arthur’s shirt, and perhaps his kitchen wall as well.

 

Arthur stuck his arm in the shower, testing the water. His concession to vanity – a huge shower with room for plenty, two heads with varying functions, and a wooden bench that ran along one wall. Lancelot had talked incessantly about the bathroom in his family’s house in Monterrey, so much so that Arthur had decided he wanted a giant shower too.

 

“Get in,” he said, shoving Lancelot into the large wooden and tile thing. “We can test it and make sure it’s what we – what I wanted.”

 

“Ah!” Lance shouted, then smiled. “It’s hot,” he explained. “But perfect,” he added, sticking his head under the top spray, adjusting the other jet to hit the back of his shoulders.

 

Arthur shut the glass door and mock pouted at him. “Jet hog,” he teased. “You do realize you’ll have to share at some point.” He sat on the bench, lathering up easily from the amount of steam, then stretched, laying out on the seat. Crossing his arms behind his head, he grinned soppily at the other man. “I’m glad I spent the money to have this,” he said happily.

 

He also conveniently ignored his plan of earlier to tell Lancelot about the police academy, and the move. Later. Most definitely in the next day.

 

He forgot most of his guilt as Lance winked at him, the other man beginning to clean himself up.

 

Arthur could watch Lancelot move for hours, be it just walking, dancing, washing dishes, shouting at him, whatever. The man’s form described grace so perfectly Arthur didn’t know if he’d ever think of anything else when he used that word.

 

“Stop staring,” jerked him from his thoughts, and he smiled at the lithe form that was suddenly straddling him. Arthur tried to sit upright, but Lance’s hands pushed him back down. “No sir,” the other man ordered. “You got me dirty, now, you’ll have to reap what you’ve sown.”

 

That made a large laugh burst out of Arthur, which jiggled Lancelot and rubbed their bodies together, which helped to transform the laugh into a slight groan. Lance frowned at Arthur’s laughter.

 

“What’s funny?” He sat back further and crossed his arms, which would have been fierce had he not been buck naked and pouting like a child.

 

“Lancelot – you never cease to amuse me,” Arthur grinned, his hands seeking out Lance’s. “Reap what you’ve sown?” He wound their fingers together, not only to keep the other man from hitting him. “Sorry, ‘Lance’,” he corrected as the dark eyes staring into his own narrowed.

 

“Well, if you’d prefer I can get out and leave you alone with your hilarity,” Lancelot snipped back, making to get off Arthur. Due to their joined hands, however, he didn’t make it very far.

 

“I’m teasing you,” Arthur replied, still smiling. “Come on. You have me at your mercy. Exact your revenge, my lord.”

 

Another arch of an elegant brow. “My lord? How you do flatter, Castus. Very well.” He adopted a regal pose that he held until both men laughed too hard for him to keep it up.

 

Lancelot levered himself off of Arthur, pushing the other man’s legs out of the way so he could sit. Laying on his back with his feet on the floor wasn’t exactly comfortable, so Arthur sat up as well. The other man was still smiling, but he was twisting his hands about, which wasn’t normal behavior. Arthur’s eyes narrowed, and he forgot for the moment that he had the object of his desire unclothed right next to him.

 

“What is it?” he asked quietly, hand tracing an absent pattern on Lancelot’s thigh. Lance glanced at him, then went back to staring at the tile floor, and the water and soap rushing down the drain.

 

“Were you going to tell me you quit your job?” he said abruptly, folding his right knee and turning so he was facing Arthur.

 

_Well, that takes care of one problem._

 

“Of course,” Arthur replied, more hastily than he had intended. “We’ve just been so preoccupied with the moving and everything, I didn’t want to add to it.” He realized how lame that sounded and sighed, moving to the jet of water and rinsing the soap off. He cranked the spray to it’s mist option, and returned to the bench. “Actually, Lance. There’s something else I have to tell you.” He took his turn at knotting his fingers together. “It’s the reason I quit the paper.”

 

One eyebrow arched, and Lancelot turned more to face him fully. His knees rose and he wrapped his arms around them. “…and?” he asked.

 

“Remember my degree?”

 

“Yes,” the younger man answered, his voice low and suspicious. “The criminology one you don’t use?”

 

When Arthur didn’t answer right away, Lancelot lowered his legs and straddled the bench, his face scant inches from Arthur’s.

 

“What the fuck have you done, Arthur?”

 

*

 

“Lance. Wait. Wait!”

 

The other man dashed down the stairs, tugging on a pair of random sweats and a shirt he had left in Arthur’s closet, barely stopping to dry off.

 

“Lance, come on. Let’s talk about this. It’s the best thing for me. It’s what I want! Don’t you want me to use my education?” Arthur chased the rapidly moving man across the living room, having to weave around boxes that hadn’t been unpacked yet. Lance stopped when Arthur caught his arm, jerking it away like Arthur’s fingers burned.

 

“Your education? This isn’t about using your education. This is about following Uther into a stupid career that could lead to you ending up just the way he did. A drunken, lonely, empty shell that died before he could damage you totally. Why in the fuck would you want to do that to yourself, Arthur? Do you still need him to approve of you? It’s a little late for that.”

 

Arthur sucked in a breath and clenched his teeth. Lance was just upset. Really upset. He didn’t mean any of that.

 

Right.

 

“Lance – I have a degree from an expensive college I’m not using. I’m working at a newspaper, for god’s sake. This way, I can do something for the community, and more importantly, I’ll have a career that makes me happy. Really happy. Can’t you see that? It has nothing to do with what Uther did or what he wanted me to do.”

 

The arrogant sneer appeared again as Lancelot bent over to pull on his shoes. “You sure about that, Arthur? I don’t recall you talking too desperately about wanting to be a policeman.” He tied them almost savagely; Arthur thought the laces would break for sure.

 

“Why the fuck do you think I got a degree in criminology if I wasn’t slightly interested?” Arthur snapped back. God, but the other man was infuriating. Arthur hadn’t meant for this discussion to get so out of control – he had thought that Lancelot would at least listen to him before going balistic.

 

Lance shrugged, a graceful sliding of his shoulders that distracted Arthur momentarily from his anger. “You’ve got me, Castus. Perhaps because it’s what your family wanted you to do?” He glared at Arthur, standing up straight. “And you say I’m a slave to my father’s whims.”

 

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He breathed silently for a minute, willing himself to have patience. He loved Lancelot. He loved him. He didn’t want to fight. Not over this. “Lance. Please, can you just try to understand? Can you just think about it for more than two minutes?” He dropped his hand, and watched as Lancelot shook his head and plopped onto the couch that was luckily right behind him. Arthur didn’t think the younger man had been worried about landing on something – his hands were trembling with the force of his rage, and his knees seemed wobbly. Lance sighed sharply, and threaded his hands through his curly hair, resting his head.

 

Arthur followed and sat on a box that was still unopened; it crunched slightly under his weight but it contained books, so it held. “Why are you so upset?” he asked quietly. “I know, believe me I know I should have told you a long time ago. I had planned to. But things just got busy,” he added as Lance looked at him, eyes narrowed and unreadable, “you graduated, and we had to deal with this move, and things just – it never seemed the right time. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

 

Lancelot barked a laugh and scrubbed his hand over his eyes. “You never want to hurt me, Arthur, but somehow you always do. What do I have to do to prove you can trust me? Why don’t you?”

 

“God, Lancelot. I do trust you. I’d trust you with my life,” Arthur replied, horrified Lance would think such a thing. “I love you.” He rubbed his temple and tilted his eyes away from the other man’s. “But…sometimes, you take things the wrong way. Without thinking them through. And I didn’t want this to be one of those times. I want you in my life – in all of it, and I had to wait until the right time to tell you this.”

 

Another shake of the dark hair. “You judgemental bastard. I take things the wrong way? You’re the one who thinks he has to protect me for ‘my own good.’ You’re the one who decides to tell me things based on whether or not I can ‘handle’ them.”

 

Arthur sputtered but Lancelot plowed on. “I’m not a child, Arthur. I’m not stupid, and I know how the world works. With this decision, you’ve just made our relationship a whole lot more difficult.” He stood and moved to the door. This time, Arthur didn’t stop him. “You know how my father’s going to react to this news. I don’t know how easy it will be to see you again,” Lance said, the tone dry and cold. A small shiver took Arthur’s spine with his words. “Think about that. Think about what you want, and if you really want me in your life, you’ll figure out eventually that you can trust me with anything. And if you don’t….” he didn’t finish the sentence.

 

Arthur jumped when the door slammed shut. He dropped his head into his hands, mimicking Lancelot’s pose of earlier. 

 

_You know how my father’s going to react to this news._

 

And there it was. Despite Lance’s angry words accusing Arthur of not trusting him, of not believing him capable of handling things – that wasn’t the problem at all. The main problem was a little thing called Roland Benoit. And God damn Lancelot for not seeing that. That was the one hitch Arthur couldn’t fix for him, no matter how much he wanted to.

 

A sudden growl escaped Arthur’s lips, and he grabbed the thing closest to him, hurling it against the wall.

 

The glass surrounding the picture shattered with a satisfying crunch, and Arthur retreated to the bedroom, leaving the mess where it lay.

 

*

 

A week later and Arthur was sitting on his couch, most of the boxes unpacked, television and stereo hooked up, clothing hung, food in the fridge, and almost all of his photos, posters and books put in their respective places. It looked lovely. Just like a new home should. Except it was empty and echoey and he didn’t like it. It was too big, too roomy, and too dark at night, especially the past three nights when he’d woken in a sweat reaching for something that wasn’t there.

 

Sighing, he scrubbed at his stubbly face, took a sip of coffee, and went back to studying his textbooks. School started in less than a week and he had barely cracked any of the required reading. That wasn’t like him. He had, however, broken in Excalibur at the range. That had felt good.

 

He’d spoken to Guin once, but had gotten off the phone quickly when she had tried to discuss Lancelot and the issues with their father. She had gotten as far as “…he keeps screaming at Lance about not seeing you ever again,” when Arthur had rung off. Arthur had known it wouldn’t be easy, but he’d thought for sure Lance would at least try and contact him. No word, no calls, no nothing for seven days. He examined his fingernails, cursing silently when he figured out he had bitten them all off already.

 

Did Lancelot only want to be with him when it was convenient? Or when things were going well? When they were in university it was different – Lancelot’s father had basically ignored Arthur, had just seen him as a phase his son had been going through, like drugs or too much drinking. But when Arthur and Lance had continued to see each other, and continued to live together the last two years of Lancelot’s schooling, Roland had begun to show more active signs of disapproval. They had paid it no mind most of the time – it was easy for Lance to avoid his family – but obviously something had changed for Lancelot.

 

_You know how my father’s going to react to this news._

 

“Why the fuck do you care?” Arthur spat angrily to his empty loft, slamming his text shut. He snorted out a short breath, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them, laying the side of his head on the back of the couch. He squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to not be so hurt.

 

_Am I a phase? Something to distract him with while he’s figuring out what he wants to do with his life? And how bad would that be if it were true?_

 

Arthur was horrified to feel his eyes burn and his throat tighten, but not surprised. He had given himself over to Lancelot a long time ago. He just hadn’t realized it. And to lose him?

 

Arthur wasn’t sure how he’d breathe, much less live, without the other man in his life.

 

A tiny noise was working itself out of his lips when the door banged open. Arthur’s eyes flew open and his hand scrabbled for his gun, even though he had actually left it in his bedroom lockbox. The sun had gone down a while ago, so he could just make out Lancelot’s sillhouette with the bright streetlights haloed behind him. He stood uncertainly, dumping his books onto the coffeetable. “Lance?” he asked, then tripped over his own feet as the other man knocked him onto the couch uncerimoniously.

 

“Lancelot, what – ”

 

Lancelot clamped a hand over Arthur’s lips until Arthur shushed. The other man’s face was red and blochy, his eyes wide and wild, his hair in disaray and his clothing messy. “What is it?” Arthur couldn’t help saying, then yelped when Lance jerked on his shirt, the snaps that had seemed silly when he bought it ripping open easily. He was already barefooted, so when Lance yanked his trousers open, then slid them down his legs, there was nothing to hinder him from going from uptight and angry to confused and undressed in a matter of moments.

 

“The fuck?” he gasped as Lance pulled his own shirt over his head, trousers following suit quickly. The younger man grabbed his chin, dragging Arthur up for a messy, wet kiss that left Arthur shaken and quickly aroused. He groped for Lancelot, but he danced out of Arthur’s way briefly, returning to shove Arthur down onto the rug. Arthur stumbled, then landed on his ass, hard. Lance straddled him quickly, groin rubbing against Arthur’s, hands and arms and legs hard and hot and all over Arthur.

 

Arthur sucked in a breath as Lancelot leaned over him, thighs clamping around his hips. From seemingly nowhere Lance had oil on his hands, and Arthur had to grit his teeth and think about bank statements and flower arranging so he didn’t peak too soon.

 

Lance snatched up Arthur’s hand, moving the fingers to his buttocks, and sunk onto them, his eyes sliding shut, his face flushing more brightly. Arthur tried to say something to get Lance to slow down, to not hurt himself, but he slapped a hand over Arthur’s mouth again, the digits digging in hard enough to leave marks.

 

He struggled slightly against Lance, trying to flip their positions, or to get him to back off, but Lance squeezed Arthur’s cock roughly with his free hand, and Arthur couldn’t do anything but moan and move the fingers that were currently buried in Lance's body.

 

Lance stroked Arthur’s cock slowly, teasing the soft skin just at the base, then pushing his thumb into the tip of it with enough pressure to make Arthur think all of his nerves had migrated to that one spot. He tried to say something but his mouth was completely dry – then it was covered by lips.

 

The moist heat of Lancelot’s mouth echoed the flame that was his body, and Arthur was certain he’d lose it before –

 

His body wasn’t exactly under his control, and he came, hard and fast and almost painfully. The fingers that were still inside Lance spasmed briefly, then clenched into a fist when the other man slipped off them. Arthur made to take him into an embrace, but Lance apparently had other ideas, moving up Arthur’s prone form to replace Arthur’s fingers in his body with Arthur’s cock.

 

“Shit,” wheezed out of Arthur, and he was almost instantly hard again. His muscles ached and his head hurt from where he had banged it on something, but his body only felt Lancelot, only wanted Lancelot, and didn’t care about Arthur’s trivial problems. The other man moved up slightly, then sunk back down, and Arthur saw stars. He flailed at the air until Lancelot’s hands guided his fingers to his thighs, and Arthur fumbled until he found Lancelot’s arousal, wrapping his hand around the younger man’s hard flesh.

 

Lance grabbed at Arthur’s shoulders, his rhythm becoming erratic and stuttering. Arthur opened his eyes long enough to see that, despite Lancelot’s murderous expression and his bared teeth, tears flowed from his tightly shut eyes.

 

“Lancelot,” he breathed. The brown eyes opened and gazed at him glassily. 

 

“Arthur,” Lancelot answered, his neck whipping back and the tendons in his neck cording as his own climax crashed over him, the warmth from his release spilling onto Arthur’s belly. His short nails tore at Arthur’s shoulders. “Arthur,” he cried, and Arthur came again.

 

This time, he saw nothing but blackness, felt nothing but Lancelot’s chest smacking to his as all coherent thought spiralled away, as if drawn into a drain.

 

*

 

Arthur wasn’t sure how long he’d been out, but when he woke, Lancelot was still laying on him, limbs splayed out, head tucked under Arthur’s chin. Arthur licked his dry lips and sat up gently, disengaging his body from Lance’s. They both made an unconscious noise of loss, then Lance wrapped himself around Arthur again. Arthur thought briefly about moving to the couch, but dismissed it when he tried it and found his muscles were locked into position. Besides, he was too warm and too sated and too tired to do much but lay there and breathe.

 

A million questions sprang to his mind, but he kept his mouth shut and slid his arms around Lancelot’s back, this time pulling him into the embrace he had tried before. Lance murmured something incoherent and nuzzled his chin. “What was that?” Arthur managed to croak. He raised one hand and stroked it through Lancelot’s hair slowly, the curly strands grasping at his fingers.

 

“I’m not giving you up,” Lance repeated quietly. Arthur merely nodded sagely, as if the comment made everything okay and fixed.

 

They stayed there until the sun began to creep over the hills, their warm skin enough on the balmy night to keep each other comfortable. Arthur only noticed his new coffeetable was broken when he finally moved enough to sit up fully, still holding Lancelot against his body.

 

A small laugh shook his chest. Lance grumbled and smacked at him. Arthur brushed his lips against the other man’s temple, and laughed again.

 

It was better than crying.


End file.
